


and then along came you

by devote



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Second Person, gratuitous use of anaphora, killua zoldyck and the mortifying ordeal of being known and loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devote/pseuds/devote
Summary: I’m Killua, you say.I’m Gon, he says.And there he is. And there you are.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 43
Kudos: 84





	and then along came you

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: implied past child abuse, panic attacks, some violence

When you are very, very young, you learn that life is not precious.

It comes to you in pieces, and all of it is too much, too fast.

You learn that your body is a blade. You learn that birds go very still before they die, that their wings go limp with their last gasp of sky. You learn that the insides of men are soft and red, and that life is just blood, and bone, and blister. You learn that death is an immutable fact, as unchangeable as the sun that bloodies your window every morning.

You watch your brothers track gore around your family’s forest until you are old enough to leave behind your own trail of bodies, until you are old enough for your parents to spill your own blood. You learn that electricity tastes like its own kind of burning, that _Kil_ is its own precursor to violence. You learn that you are more weapon than boy.

You watch them take your sister away.

You watch a child play, and you kill his mother in front of him, and then you kill him, too. You feel nothing. You feel nothing. You feel nothing, because you were never a child, not like he was. You were bred to be a killer from the day you were born.

You are more monster than boy.

You learn that life is nothing. So you take flight with the splatter of your mother’s blood still fresh on your hands. You run, and run, and run.

You run, and run, and run, and you learn that freedom feels like the northern sea breaking over your head: harsh, bitter, and so, so cold. You let the waves toss you from the sodden shipwreck of your childhood, and as the shore fades from sight, you find yourself missing the gritty burn of sand beneath your bare feet.

You run, and run, and run, and still, you feel nothing.

You learn that loneliness is another kind of death. 

You are twelve, and you realize that they ended your life before it ever even had the chance to begin. You are twelve, and the only thing you know how to do is kill. You are twelve, and you have never been this lonely. You think that maybe this is all it’s ever going to be.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

And then. 

And then, you meet the boy.

You meet the boy, and he is the first person that believes you.

You are slumped in an airship thousands of feet in the air, peering past your reflection in the glass to the lights dwindling far, far below, and he is the first person that believes you. He is so, so earnest, and he is the first thing that you do not understand. You are a creature bred of logic and agony, but this boy is something else entirely, something borne of starlight and sassafras and sea spray.

 _Where did you come from_ , you think, when he calls out to you. _How did you find me?_

You run, and run, and run, and suddenly, he is there, and he is more earth than boy; not sky, not sun, because those are dreams that they beat out of you long ago. He is the same age as you, and he is as kind as you are callous, and he teaches you that there is more to the body than blood, and bone, and blister. He teaches you that your body is not a blade. He teaches you that your hand is just a hand, and his hand is just a hand. He teaches you that the heart is just a heart. Not just a fleshy thing to be ripped out, stabbed, poisoned, but something strong. Something loud, and steady, and true. Something that beats, calm and slow, when you rest your head against his chest.

 _I’m Killua_ , you say.

 _I’m Gon_ , he says.

And there he is. And there you are.

_Did I run all this way just to find you?_

_Tell me, where did you come from, with that wild, heaving heart of yours?_

ˣ ˣ ˣ

“You were born to be a killer,” your brother says, much later.

You should have expected this. Nothing that is this kind to you has ever lasted long enough to be real.

His tone is icy. Final. An ever-present hiss in the back of your head; a presence haunting your nights with visions of arsenic and blood that jolt you awake at three in the morning.

They’re all watching you. You can feel their eyes boring into the side of your head (tense, confused, angry), but you can’t even make fun of the expression that must be on Leorio’s face because you might really die here, just when you’ve finally found something you want.

“You’re a puppet of darkness, without passion. You don’t want anything or wish for anything. As one who lives in the shadows you can only feel pleasure when people die. That’s how Dad and I raised you.” 

_Liar_ , you think, but the word gets trapped somewhere in your sternum, the syllables tearing at your throat. _Liar._

_LIAR._

"I do have something I want. There’s something I really want,” you manage to whisper.

You’re shaking so hard you can’t see, sweat running cold and sticky down the neck of your shirt. Your hands won’t do what you tell them to do, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest; desperate, every last instinct telling you to run. You can’t move. But you have to say it. You have to say it, or this new, untarnished hope will be nothing more than a childish dream, and Illumi will be right. And he cannot be right this time. You need this one hope to stay true, to stay just yours. Your mouth trembles. Tries to form words. Fails. Tries again. _Sayitsayitsayitsayit—_

“I want to become friends with Gon.” You clench your fists, nails cutting deep into your palms. “I’m sick of killing people.”

You are twelve, and your entire life has been a series of absences punctuated by violence. You have only ever known the world in negation: killing, the opposite of caring. Apathy, the opposite of living. But now you know Gon, and you know that there must be something more to this life, because Gon is none of those things. Gon is sunshine and honey. Gon is warm honesty and idle chatter. Gon is a pinky promise and a handhold, a boy burning straight through the atmosphere while the rest of the world looks on in wonder. Gon is everything at once, and you are not ready to know him. But you want to. Oh, how you want to.

So you swallow your terror for the first time in your life, because this is the first time you have ever wanted anything, and you do not want to forget this selfish sensation; this longing, warm and alive and newly familiar.

“I want to become friends with Gon and live a normal life,” you say.

It is the first promise you have ever wanted to keep.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

The years you spend with him teach you countless ways to want.

 _I want, I want, I want_ , your pulse hammers out.

You learn _I want to be his friend._ You learn _I want to stay with him, always._ You learn _I want to help him find his dad._

For a while, you think that the worst thing you learn is _I want to kiss him._

You think it’s the worst one, until you find yourself pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the hospital window, your teary reflection blurring over where his frail body slumps on the bed.

You learn _I wanted you to ask for my help._ You learn _I want you to wake up._ You learn _I want you to say you’re sorry_ , and you learn that some hurts cannot be healed with wishes.

You do not learn how to say: _the first dream I ever had was for you._

You do not learn how to say: _it was a beautiful dream._

You do not learn how to say: _you were trailing your fingers through the water, and the wind was humming through your hair, and the birds were singing high and sweet, and the sun was lipping gold over your shoulders, and the trees were whispering slow and lovely, and everything was bright and still, and everything was okay._

You do not learn how to say: _I miss you._

ˣ ˣ ˣ

On bad nights when the only thing you can do is remember, when you curl into yourself in the corner of your room, gasping without crying, you claw your way past the memories of _cold_ and _hurts_ and _can’t breathe_ and _please_ to arrive at the first feeling you have ever held close, cupped small and warm in your hands like a firefly.

That you were loved.

You were loved.

And you know you were loved because he made you feel safe.

On bad nights you sleep with the door cracked open, and you know that he must hear your tiny, choked-out whimpers and the rattle of your shoulders against the wall you share. You do not know how to ask for help, but you leave the door cracked open, and he goes to you anyway. He sits at your side until you can breathe and holds out his hands as if he can carry the weight of every awful thing that has ever been done to you. You know he would do it if he could.

He does not say anything, and you curl into his side, skin clammy with sweat. Together, you breathe in; breathe out. Breathe in; breathe out.

You take his hand.

 _You are loved_ , the squeeze of his fingers says, _you are safe_ , and you shut your eyes long enough to believe it.

You did not know you could be held like this.

And it scares you — it scares you how badly you want to deserve this.

You know that he is too good for you with all your jagged edges; too good, too sweet, too kind. But you want to deserve him. He was the one who found you, the one who pulled you straight out of hellfire and into his life, so it’s the least you can do to protect him. It’s the least you can do to follow him for as long as he wants you.

You know that deep in that soft, red heart of yours, you want to love him, and shelter him, and follow him for as long as you can, because he has loved you, and sheltered you, and led you without question. He has saved you from childhood horrors and fed you his aunt’s food and chased you through forest and famine and fire and you know, just as you know the exact place to tear a grown man’s heart from his chest, that when you look to your side, he will be there, waiting for you. He has taught you to be selfless and honest and young and when you part ways, you know it will only be for a little while, because you will come back to each other, no matter long it takes.

You know you will come back because even if there is no body you can return to, even if there is no nightmare you can flee from, even if there is no way you can deserve him, there will always be love, and love, and love; and when you are lonely, when you are hovering somewhere far, far away, when life is a tenuous, impossible thing, your love will tug you close. He will press a calloused hand to your cheek, eyes bright, and say _hey, Killua. What’re you thinking about?_ and your answer will always be _you, you, you._

He will smile at you, and finally, _finally_ , you will learn what you want to call home.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

Somewhere along the way, between all that heartache and joy, you will forget how to be lonely. You will not remember when it happens. You will only know that one day, you will wake, and he will be there, tugging you towards your next adventure.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

“Do you ever regret it?” Killua asks.

Gon’s sprawled out on the ground next to him, arms folded behind his head as he gazes up at the night sky. There’s a streak of dirt on his cheek. Killua aches to rub it away, to feel warm skin under his thumb, so he tucks his hands in his pockets for safekeeping.

“Regret what?” Gon tilts his head back towards him. A smile curls unconsciously at the corners of his mouth as he looks at Killua, and Killua frowns instinctively.

“Leaving home.” His hair still smells like Mito-san’s soap. If he shifts a little closer to Gon, he’d smell the same soft, clean scent on his clothes. They’d woken up that morning curled around each other like children, and under the rosy cover of sunrise, he’d buried his nose in the curve of Gon’s neck before he’d kicked him off the bed.

Gon hums wistfully.

“No. If I never left, I wouldn’t have met you, Killua! I miss Whale Island, but I think I’d miss you more.”

Killua scoffs, turning away from Gon’s inquisitive gaze to hide the flush on his cheeks.

“Idiot. You can’t just say stuff like that. How would you miss me if you never even met me?”

Gon frowns as if the question pains him.

“Dunno. It doesn’t matter. I just know that I would.” He sits up, turning to face Killua. “What about you? Do you regret leaving?”

Killua scoffs.

“You know I don’t. I’d go back and kill them if I had the chance.”

“I know.” Gon scoots closer, nudging a muddy shoe against his knee. After a pause, he ventures: “But that was never really your home, was it?”

Killua looks back at him. He’s still smiling at Killua, firelight curling over his bare, tanned shoulders. Killua gives in and reaches up to wipe the smudge of dirt off his cheek. His skin is just as soft as it looks.

“No,” Killua says, rubbing the dirt between his fingers and letting it crumble to the earth. “It wasn’t.”

Gon huffs, reaching out to catch Killua’s hand before it can drop back into his lap. Killua freezes, and the other boy uses his momentary stillness to tug him closer. His face is starting to scrunch into that heartsick expression he gets when he wakes Killua from a nightmare, so in a burst of panic, Killua pulls his hand free to pinch his cheeks into a sloppy attempt at a smile.

Gon squints at him.

“Tha’ fine, Ki’ua!” he manages, and Killua lets his face go with a sigh. “We’ll just have to find a new home, then. One that’ll fit you and me both.”

He’s beaming at Killua, impossibly stubborn, impossibly bright. Killua’s fingers are still tingling from the heat of his skin.

He scowls back.

“Sounds stupid,” he decides.

“Let’s start tomorrow!” Gon cheers.

 _Come with me?_ the nudge of his foot to Killua’s ankle asks.

“It’s not like I could stop you if I tried,” he grumbles. “Once you’ve got your mind set on something you just drag me along for the ride.”

 _Where else would I go?_ the jab of his elbow in Gon’s side answers.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

Somewhere along the way, when you are still young, you will fall in love, and you will forget that you were ever lonely.

You will watch the sun rise from the window of his childhood home, and you will learn that his hands are strong and kind. You will learn that he is more boy than weapon, and you will learn that love is an immutable fact, as unchangeable as the heart that thrums in his chest every day. 

You will learn that this life is as precious as this boy who saved you. This boy who loves you.

You will take his hand in yours, and together, you will run, and run, and run, and one day, when you are less young and restless and scared, you will find a place to call home. A place warm enough to hold both of you and all the aches that you carry between you.

But not yet, not yet. You know that this beautiful dream will always be there, waiting, because he will always be with you, running.

So for now, you run.

For now, you live.

ˣ ˣ ˣ

_I kneel into a dream where I_  
_am good & loved. I am_  
_good. I am loved. My hands have made_  
_some good mistakes. They can always_  
_make better ones._  
_— Natalie Wee_

**Author's Note:**

> this is only a tiny fraction of all the space that killua zoldyck takes up in my head. please care him
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/miwavevo) x


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